Just Down The Hall
by JessicaDarling
Summary: Quinn Fabray is studying at NYU. She just wants to enjoy her life & friends while battling with her own secrets. Rachel Berry has returned to NYC from LA for a film rumored to be Oscar-worthy. She's moved into Quinn's building. Just down the hall. A/U.
1. Chapter 1

Just Down The Hall

Author: Jessica Darling

Pairing: Faberry

Rated M

_**A/N: **_First fic ever. So we'll see how this goes. Truthfully I got drunk one night and had remembered a dream I had where I met Dianna Agron in the hallway of my apartment building and went from there. I own none of these characters. They belong to Ryan Murphy.. lucky, evil bastard. I'm iffy about if my writing will be enough for you to enjoy so let me know how you feel about this first chapter and if you think I should continue. Por favor y gracias.

Ohio had always been cold, but what the hell, New York? It's almost May. Q didn't know how much more of this bipolar weather she could endure. Just last weekend she could be found at George Washington Park enjoying a picnic in between classes with Mike and their friends in one of her signature sundresses and a light cardigan. Today she had woken up with ice cube toes, so she found herself donning dark jeans with thick socks and warm boots, layering her top half with a long sleeve, her favorite green zip up hoodie, and a leather jacket. With her scarf and beanie keeping her neck and head warm, she probably looked like a homeless person trying to keep warm while wearing everything they owned. Screw it. She was warm, and she was comfortable. Who cares if the blonde was now sweating underneath it all after having trekked from the theatre district all the way back to Newbury Street. Her friend from her acting class, Blaine, asked her to come see him perform at an open mic night and she had been looking for an excuse to get out of the apartment.. no matter how cold it was outside.

When she had made it into her building, she noticed someone was using the elevator to move out.. or in.. she didn't know and she didn't really care at this point. She was hot, sweaty, and still a little (or a lot) buzzed. _Fuck it_, she thought as her bangs clung to her forehead, _I'll just take the stairs_. By the time she reached the fourth floor, she had peeled off almost all of her layers. No one ever used the stairs. She would just come back for the articles she'd thrown about somewhere in the stairwell come morning. In only a thin grey tank top clinging to her sweaty curves, she finally reached her floor breathing a little too heavy for someone her age. _I'm going to need to start running again. Four flights should not be that hard, _she told herself. _Sue would probably push me down all four flights and make me climb them all over again if she saw the shape I was in right now._

Quinn was so busy shuddering at the thought of her old cheerleading coach that she didn't notice the small figure through the glass on the other side of the door. She threw the door open into the hallway and – THWACK. "Oh my fuck!" Quinn heard herself gasp. Of course this was the former cheerleader's drunk luck. The door flying open hadn't sent the person on the other side of the door to the ground, instead it simply ricocheted off their boot and came back to smack her right in the face. The blonde grabbed her throbbing face with her hand. "Good one, Fabray. No, really. Nice job," she muttered through her fingers.

"Do you normally speak to yourself, or should I be worried that you may have suffered some potentially serious brain damage?" she heard, followed by a light chuckle.

"Um.." she started confused from where exactly the melodic voice was coming from. "I don't know.." She removed her hand from her face and waited for her eyes to regain focus.

"Oh my God!" the mystery woman yelled. "You're bleeding! Are you okay? Oh Streisand, of course she's not okay, Rachel. She's got blood pouring from her nose."

"Now who's the one talking to themselves?" Quinn giggled to herself as her eyes finally came into focus. What happened next.. She would later blame it on the alcohol, or maybe try to convince herself that maybe she really did suffer some brain damage from the door.

"You have _got_ to be fucking kidding me!" she heard herself blurt out. Who could really blame her though? People do really stupid shit when they meet a famous person. And you couldn't get much more famous than Rachel Berry in Quinn Fabray's eyes. The tiny songstress was halfway to an EGOT, having already won a Tony for her role as Wendla on Broadway in _Spring Awakening_ and an Emmy for Outstanding Guest Actress in a Drama Series as herself on the new NBC show, _Smash. _Rumor has it she would be ¾ of the way to that EGOT soon. She had just signed on to a dark, edgy indie that would bring her an Oscar if she could pull it off.

All of this ran through Quinn's head as she stood in the middle of her hallway simply staring at the miniature celebrity. By now, ten seconds had passed, causing the hazel eyed girl to completely forget about the fact blood was running down her face. Later, she would hope that it was distracting from the fact she was drooling over the brunette's presence and practically ogling the woman. Because if you thought Rachel Berry was gorgeous on screen or in the papers, it was nothing compared to seeing the small diva up close and in person. Her long, chestnut hair was pulled back in a messy pony tail with her bangs pinned back and away from her face. She was sporting black leggings with a purple tank top just barely coming past the tops of obviously toned thighs. Quinn's sure that if she turned around and bent over a bit, she'd have a glorious view of what was sure to be a tight, juicy bottom. Thinking of those globes made the blonde's eyes venture even further up to another set that were pushed up by a black sports bra and just barely on display due to the low cut of the tank. She could swear she'd seen a little bead of sweat trailing from her neck moving to settle just in between..

Quinn was only brought out of her ultimate creep fest by the slow raising of the brunette's left eyebrow. If people thought that look was sexy on Quinn… _Oh, God_, Quinn thought, causing her to pull her bottom lip in between her teeth. That is until she tasted metal on her tongue, almost like blood. Blood? "Oh my fuck, " Quinn said brining herself back to reality. She reached up to comb her fingers through her long blonde locks when she realized that was the same hand that had been covering her bloody nose. "Seriously, Quinn?" she chastised herself. She probably looked like some sort of crime scene now. "I'm just gonna.." she mumbled as she pointed to her door, opening and closing her mouth like a fish out of water. "Yea.. just.. oh my God. This is just.. fuck." She continues to mumble as she turns around and stumbles over her own feet to get as far away as fast as she can from the miniature songstress. She scrambles to get the door unlocked and finally manages to open it. But she wouldn't be a drunk Quinn Fabray if she didn't proceed to trip and smash her face into yet another door before finally getting inside and slamming it shut. Her mother would be oh-so proud of her articulate wording and wonderful grace.. yeah..

With her back slumped against her apartment door, Quinn grabs her scarf to clean up the mess that is her face at this point. She takes a couple of deep breaths, thumps her head back against the door, and slowly begins to chuckle until it turns into full on laughter. Once she calms down and her drunken giddiness subsides, she somehow manages to pull herself to her feet to get ready for bed. _Hopefully I'm drunk enough I don't remember any of this tomorrow_. Of course she would fuck up her one chance at meeting her celebrity girl crush. It would be quite obvious to anyone else that Quinn was more drunk than she realized since it doesn't even once cross her mind why the Broadway star was in her building in the first place, instead she passes out hard as soon as her swollen face hits her oh so soft pillow.

Xx-xX

Quinn wakes up the next morning to an obnoxious pounding. She shoots up in her bed and quickly realizes that was a mistake. Her face is throbbing. Her throat is dry and cracked. She lets out a yawn only to start coughing, this in turn makes her face throb harder. She's never drinking again. Then again she still hasn't been able to go a full week without at least one beer. Today starts her over at Day One. After a couple of seconds, the pounding has subsided so she lowers her head slowly back down onto her pillow and closes her eyes. She's certain she was almost lost in slumber before the pounding begins again. It takes her a minute to realize it's not just her head/face that's pounding; it's coming from her front door. "What the actual fuck," she grunts into her pillow. The pounding continues and she slowly gets up this time, ready to kill whomever is on the other side of that door. "FABRAY!" she recognizes Mike's voice coming from the front of her apartment. _Forgive me Father for I have sinned.. I killed my best friend this morning.._

The hung over blonde wrenches open the front door and meets Mike with the HBIC glare that she had used to establish her reign at McKinley High. Normally Mike would have the right mind to cower a little when meeting a look like that from Quinn Fabray, but today he had other things on his mind, like, "Dude.. what the hell happened to your face?" He doesn't take his eyes off the multi-colored Quinn as he lets himself into her apartment. "I don't know if I want to go out in public with you looking like that. People are going to think I'm your abusive boyfriend or something."

"Like you could take me," she smirks at her best friend. Ouch. Right. Throbbing face. She leaves Mike in the kitchen rummaging through her fridge as she makes her way to the hallway washroom. When she meets her own hard gaze in the mirror, she almost yelps in surprise. Her nose doesn't look broken, but it definitely reminds her of the days spent in bed recovering from her own nose job. Her eyes are underlined by a dark, purplish red. Basically she looks like a blonde raccoon. Quinn flashes back to her face catching a door last night. No wait.. Maybe two doors. She walks back out to her kitchen island and finds Mike sitting on a bar stool eating an apple looking at a pink piece of paper, "Who's RBB?" he asks. "What?" she grumbles not really paying attention to anything other than her poor painful face as she goes for OJ and painkillers. "You had this note on your door this morning. It's signed by an RBB." -CRASH- "Holy crap, Q. Are you okay?" Quinn was now covered in orange juice as memories of last night began to flood her mind. "Give me that!" she snatched the letter from the Asian man's hand, completely ignoring the sticky juice that now covered most of her kitchen floor as well as herself. Quinn began to scan the note as her friend went for the paper towels.

**Dear Quinn,**

Or at least I am to believe your name's Quinn. That _is _the name you used while you were addressing yourself last night. Anyways, Quinn, I do hope you are not in too much pain today. I apologize for your first incident with the hallway door. I should not have been blocking a fire exit like that causing it to collide against your (what I believe to be) lovely nose. I realize now that you only had to take the stairs due to the fact I was occupying the elevator with my moving boxes. I can't really take blame for your second run-in with a door, however. 

Quinn's had a pretty good blush going on at this point.

**I'm not used to one such reaction as the one you had last night, although I can say it gave me a lovely anecdote for the next time I'm on Letterman. If you ever need to borrow a cup of sugar (or want your clothes back that I found in the stairwell), I'm just down the hall.**

**RBB ***

Quinn found herself smiling at the star the woman had drawn next to her signature. That was until.. _Oh my fuck, _the blonde realized, _Rachel Berry has moved into this building, on this floor, in my hallway. _She was pretty sure she was going to faint. She just hoped she didn't land on her face.


	2. Chapter 2

**_A/N:I own nothing. Wow, that was more reviews than I thought I was going to get and a shit load of story alerts/favorites. I would say that first chapter was more of a Prologue. I wanted to use this chapter to introduce you to Quinn a little bit more. You'll see one of the reasons there is possible angst in the future. You can thank a bout of insomnia for why I was able to get this chapter down on paper finally. Yes, paper. I always write with pen and paper before I type up my writings. Let me know what ya think again. Hope it's up to par._**

**Chapter 2**

"So how has the past week gone?"

Quinn tore her gaze away from the pen and notepad poised for action and looked up into striking green eyes framed by a pair of wire rimmed glasses and bushy gray eyebrows.

"Well, Mack Attack., my week was just peachy. You know.. up until my sister called me during my break between classes last Wednesday, completely wasted, and proceeded to slur on about how much she loved me and to never take your loved ones for granted. Highlight of my week. By far."

The older man smirked at the nickname the blonde had chosen for this week's session. Dr. Charles Mack was an alcohol counselor for NYU. It had taken weeks for Quinn to muster up the courage to call the Student Counseling Services and schedule an appointment for an alcohol evaluation. Dr. Mack was surprised by the call. Most of his student patients were those that were required to attend session with the counselor for a set period of time. He usually dealt with the rowdy ones that had received a DUI, been arrested for public intoxication, or were addicted to recreational narcotics. Voluntary calls weren't a common occurrence in his department.

During Quinn's first session, the young woman sat in room with the counselor and filled out pages upon pages of paperwork and tests regarding her alcohol/drug intake and her medical and family history. Still, when she left the office about an hour later, she felt a bit lighter.

During Quinn's second session, Dr. Mack informed her he had gone through her tests and paperwork and it didn't look like she had anything to worry about. "You're not an alcoholic, Ms. Fabray. You're a young adult in college. Just about all students here would be considered binger drinkers if you held them to the scientific standards. Plenty of young adults are drinking and/or taking drugs as much as, if not more often than, you seem to be. You haven't had any thoughts of suicide. You don't let your drinking get in the way of your every day life. You aren't putting yourself or others in danger. Yes, you have a family history of alcoholism, but that doesn't mean that you will be affected by it necessarily. Alcoholism can be brought on by genetic and environmental factors, but ultimately it's a brain change where you simply _have to have it. _I don't think you're at that point yet. If you keep an eye on it, you should be just fine." After a few quiet moments, the girl gave him her thanks and left to process this new information, but not before scheduling another appoint on the way out.

When Quinn walked into her third session, the look of surprise that flashed across the counselor's face did not go unnoticed. She took a seat in the chair across from the man and sat quietly for a few moments before taking a deep breath and starting, "I hit rock bottom a few years back. And I think.. I think I need some help climbing back up. And maybe this will help to make sure I don't fall back down." Since that session, she had been returning to see the counselor once a week.

Throughout that semester, Dr. Mack learned about her alcoholic father. He learned about the emotional abuse she and her sister were dealt during his drunken stupor; the backhanded compliments and casual insults flung their way. Her older sister, Frannie, seemed to have been affected the most in this environment, following in her father's drunken footsteps. The older sibling had lost her best friend in college due to a drunk driving accident and naturally, turned to the bottle to help her deal with it. Although it pained Quinn to see her like that, she just wrote it off to being a Fabray.

"And after your sister called, what did you do?" the counselor asked.

The blonde sighs, "What I always do. I sat there and let her talk until she was crying into the phone. Then I became angry with myself for letting my sister turn out this way. Then I became angry with Frannie for her weakness of not being able to just _deal _with her problems.. or at least hide them away somewhere and forget about it." She snorts to herself at this point, "And after throwing a hissy fit on my cell phone, which is now broken, I went to a friend's open mic night where I proceeded to get drunk." The blonde chuckles coldly, "Who does that? Who gets upset at her sister's drunken depression and then heads to the nearest bar to get drunk herself? Oh right.. Fabrays.. kind of runs in the family."

"A lot of people drink after dealing with a crappy situation Quinn," Dr. Mack points out. "This doesn't make you an alcoholic. We've talked about this. You're a problem drinker. You don't drink because you have to; you drink because it's your way of dealin. We just have to find that something to help you deal with your issues and release that anger you have built up inside over the years."

"I just.. I don't know. I wish I were important enough to my _sister _to stop drinking. What do I expect, though? I did the same thing to –" she stops herself before she can say the name, as she feels an old but familiar ache radiate through her chest. Dammit. It had been months since she last thought of her, and longer since she's been able to say that name.

"Still not able to say it out loud?" the alcohol counselor asks, trying to distract her from her inner monologue.

"I can't even say it in my head. How am I expected to say it aloud? To her, I don't exist. Why should she still be able to exist in my world, in my thoughts, if I don't exist in hers? Do you know how foolish I feel.. Missing someone who's not even gone?" Quinn continues, getting lost in a whirlwind of old emotions becoming swept up in a storm that had long since passed. "Why wasn't I important enough for her to forgive? What wasn't I worth the extra effort? Was I too broken to fix?" The blonde was on the verge of tears at this point. Her eyes were red, puffy, and wet, but she refused to let any tears fall. It had been almost three years now. She was tired of crying over it. But it's not so easy to forget your first l - NO - best friend.

"I made one mistake; one horrible mistake. One that _I _have to live with, not her! A mistake I can't even remember. When you hit rock bottom, your bestfriend is supposed to help you back up. They're supposed to be the one to grab your hand and pull you back up. But that.. Person," she spit out, still not able to say a negative word about the other girl, "She just left me down there while she climbed higher to the top!"

The counselor and student sat in silence for a few moments as the clearly distraught girl fought to regain control of her breathing and piece back together her mask that had crumbled just moments earlier.

"How about we call it a day, huh?" Mack suggested, giving the girl an easy out. "This week I want you to come up with some alternative ways to deal with your problems other than drinking. Maybe try running, or video games, as long as it's something that keeps your mind and body occupied. It's like when a smoker holds a pen or pencil between their fingers just to keep their hands occupied so they don't grab for a cigarette. Hell, you could attempt knitting. My wife's been making me learn how to knit with her and.. Wait.. No, never mind. Two large pointy objects and a ball of yarn. That will either lead to you stabling something nearby like your precious $50 throw pillow your wife just _had to have to bring together the sitting room décor, not to mention the shit fit Mrs. Mack threw when she found the cat after I tied it up with the tangled yarn ball."_

He was able to get a gargled giggle out of the blonde who was trying to act as if she hasn't just lack of composure moments ago. "Oh, Mac Attack, you never cease to amaze me, old man," she said with a smile.

"Old.. Hrmph," the counselor grumbles, but the blonde can see the corners of his mouth tugged upwards. "Quinn," he begins, "Don't ever think you're not worth it. That just leads you down darker paths. Sometimes.. Sometimes people just get scared, and everyone deals with fear in different ways. But don't ever let someone make you feel like you weren't or aren't important enough for them. As for your sister, I think it would be beneficial for you to tell her how it makes you feel when she calls you drunk. You have your own problems. I'm not saying you have to completely ignore hers, but you can't be her rock when you're not that solid to begin with. You were forced to grow up faster than most people your age. Don't forget that you're still young. You don't have to be a 6-year-old to build a blanket fort. Breathe a little. Live a little. But really, talk to your sister. She just might listen."

The blonde nodded her head up and down even though that conversation would never actually occur. It wasn't the Fabray way. Drunken sob fests were one thing when one of the participants could act as if they don't remember it the next day, whether they actually blacked out or not. It was a whole 'nother story to soberly share your feelings or secrets. It only opened you up to being vulnerable, and vulnerable meant weak. Fabrays didn't do weak.

"Okay," she mumbles, standing up to leave. She throws her bag over her shoulder and heads to the door. "See you next week, Mack," she tosses back as she walks out.

Xx—Xx

**Thud. Thud. Thud.**

**Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.**

**Thud. Thud. Thud.**

Running. Dr. Mack had told her to try running next time she wanted a drink. After that session, the former cheerleader could really use a drink. She needed something, anything to take her mind off of her old.. friend. That's how she found herself lacing up her old sneakers, sporting a pair of tight, black running shorts (the weather had gotten warmer thankfully), a deep purple sports bra, and a light windbreaker. She headed out the door and made it to Central Park as quickly as possible. Running through the streets of the City, she was able to push the anger from earlier down and clear her mind a little, but now the park benches, families, and trees were reminding her of home. She shouldn't be surprised, really. Central Park is where she came to get away from the hustle and bustle and relax. It was her little piece of Ohio almost. Sure, there weren't people with purple Mohawks walking around Lima, and at home it was a little easier to breathe without the smog, but the trees and green grass gave her a sense of home. And with the running she was reminded of the Cheerios' trail runs on the weekends. She would lead the squad around the outskirts of town where there was nothing but nature and silence. All you could hear was the steady breathing and footfalls of the girls. It was during these quiet times that the squad really felt like a team. The blonde always lead the runs with her dark-haired second in command right by her side. Light and dark. Day and night. They were best friends, always pushing each other. The two would listen to the other's breath and footsteps until they matched up. Left, right, left, right. They'd both be in sync, and sometimes Quinn would turn to smile at –_NO, NO, NO, STOP IT! _Theblonde shook her head to pull herself out of her thoughts. She must've yelled that last part out loud because the old couple on the bench she's passing are looking at her oddly. She ignores them, though, turning her music up higher. _Stop doing this to yourself. She erased you from her life. You need to do the same! C'mon. Think of something else._ She picks up the pace as her memory takes her back to Cheerios training again. _C'mon, c'mon. Please don't do this._ She's running along the trails in Lima, but this time when she turns to smile, she's met with Rachel Berry, wearing the same outfit she had on the night the two ran into each other (literally). Rachel's feet are moving in sync with her own and her breathing has evened out to match Quinn's. Her chest is heaving up and down from her deep breaths, causing her breasts to jump just a little – "AHH!"

When the runner opens her eyes again, a tiny monster licking at her face greets her. Or maybe it was a tiny dog.

"Oh my God. I'm so sorry! He just got away from me."

Quinn looked down to find a leash tangled around her legs. She then looks to her hands and knees. Minimal bleeding with multiple scrapes, and that was definitely going to bruise. She winces as the dog pulls on the leash attempting to get to the side of Quinn's face he has yet to lick.

"Arthur, stop that!"

So the tiny monster had a name, Arthur. Getting a good look at him, since he was perched on top of her chest, she took in the dog's scrunched up face and stubby little legs. French bulldog. Her aunt used to have one of those.

"I really am sorry. He gets excited like me when he sees the ducks, and he took off towards the water as soon as he heard them. It's kind of funny actually. Usually I'm the one dragging him along behind me because I'm taller than him, and that means I can see the ducks quicker."

Quinn breaks eye contact with the tiny- er – Arthur to finally look up at this woman going on about ducks. That was what she was talking about, right? Maybe she hit her head when she fell or something. _Great, Fabray. Two concussions within a week's span._

_"_Oh. Hey! I think I know you!" the woman exclaims. At this, the runner actually notices Arthur's caretaker. She appears to be the same age as herself. Blonde hair. Blue eyes framed by bangs. Cute smile. She does look familiar, but Quinn can't quite place the young woman. Her eyes travel along the taller woman's body, clad in a cut-off sweater, black leggings, and Nike high tops. _Dancer_, she realizes. _Mike. Mike's a dancer._ The shorter blonde's brain seems to finally be catching up with her.

"You're a Mike!" Quinn blurts out. The other blonde looks confused. "I mean a dancer. You're a dancer. Mike's a dancer." She's still getting a weird look.. "You dance with my friend, Mike Chang. I think I've seen you a couple of times when I meet him at the studio to walk home from class."

The dancer is now smiling at the runner her dog took down. "You're cute," she states.

"Uh, n.. no. I'm Quinn," the runner sutters. _Oh, wow. Smooth, Quinn. _But the taller blonde simply giggles. "Hi, Quinn. I'm Brittany, and this is Arthur." The blonde on the ground, who's blushing beyond belief right now, turns to pat the dog on the head, "Right. Hi, Arthur. You think I could get some help up, Brittany?"

Quinn extends her hand to the dancer and is yanked up and untangled from Arthur. "Thanks," she says, brushing off gravel from her knees and palms.

"Oh, no problem," Brittany chirps, "You looked like you could use a lift up even before Arthur took you down." Quinn tilts her head a Brittany questioningly. "You know, like you looked down and blue, even though you were up and blonde."

Was she really that obvious, or could this girl just read her really well? She was hoping for the first. She'd always been able to hide behind her icy façade or her polite Christian manners. She didn't know how she felt about someone being able to see beyond that just upon meeting her.

"You look like Arthur when you tilt your head like that," the tall dancer pointed out. Quinn looks down to the dog and notices he's staring up at her with the same tilt. "So, um, we should maybe hang out sometime. Arthur and I would really like to have someone to watch the ducks with us every now and then." Quinn wonders when the other blonde had gotten so shy all of a sudden, but quickly picks up on the tentative hopefulness in the girl's suggestion. Mike was the main reason Quinn even had friends at all. Him and class group projects that introduced her to people like Blaine. It could be hard to make friends in the City. The girl didn't seem like a serial killer, just a little different. And her dog really was adorkable.

She makes a decision, "Sure, Brittany. That sounds nice." The runner suddenly finds herself pulled into a fierce hug by the squealing dancer.

"Oh, this is so great! Here let me give you my number!" Quinn was about to tell Brittany that she had recently broken her iPhone until the other girl pulls out a marker from her bag and gabs her hand. "Oh wait, you've got scratches all over your hands. Here.." the excited blonde knelt down in front of Quinn and proceeds to write her name and number on the top of the runner's thigh, right where her shorts end. "There! Well, it was super great to meet you, Quinn, but Arthur here gets cranky when I keep him from the ducks for too long. Call me soon. Bye!"

Brittany walks off with her furry counterpart, leaving behind a dazed and confused Quinn. Once she notices the girl and dog have made it to the ducks, she brings herself out of her trance, deciding to start the trek back to her apartment. She received some funny looks and a random high-five in the first 10 minutes of her walk home. "Um.." she raises and eyebrow at the teenage boy that had just slapped hands with her. He points down to her leg, smirks, and keeps on walking. She looks down. Right. She has a girl's information written on her leg. Quinn decides to ignore the pain and run the rest of the way home.

Xx—Xx

***Ding***

_Finally, _Quinn internally sighed, getting off the elevator onto the floor of her apartment. She walked around the corner of her hallway, once again disappointed there were no signs of a certain brunette. She had been keeping an eye and ear out for the tiny actress since their disastrous encounter the week before. She left her apartment at different times to try and catch a glimpse of chestnut hair or tan skin. She tried chewing her morning cereal quieter to see if she could hear movement in the hall in the mornings. One night, she stubbed her toe on the coffee table before crashing with the floor trying to get to the peephole when she thought she heard a woman getting off the elevator talking on her cell phone. That time she simply laid on the floor afraid to get up and check the hallway, fearing the person had heard the loud crash and curse come from within her apartment.

_Just down the hall, _she mused, _but where down the hall?_ The note hadn't left any indication of which door the famous star could be found behind. Quinn didn't really know any of her neighbors, or had never really paid attention to anyone on her floor, so she wasn't even given the luxury of being able to narrow down her options. As the blonde reaches her own door, she goes to pull out her key wedged between her shorts and skin, but it's not there. She pats around on her leg and butt. Then tries the other side when she feels no key. She even pulls her waistband out to visually check that there's no key in her pants, hoping for it to magically drop out of her running shorts onto the floor. _Arthur,_ she realizes. _It must've fallen out of my shorts when that adorable mutt tripped me up_. Now here she stands at her door with no key, no phone to call the super, and all she thinks is, God, I could use a drink. She rests her forehead on the door. "Stupid," she mutters. "Stupid, stupid, stupid," she repeats as she bangs her head against her door.

"I take this to mean you regularly participate in conversations with yourself then?" she hears from behind her. Spinning around she comes face to face with her new neighbor. "And apparently you are also prone to weekly accidents," the actress observes as chocolate eyes travel the blonde's body taking in her damaged hands and injured knees.

"Rachel," is the only word Quinn's able to get out after the shock of seeing the brunette wears off. The other girl smiles, "Good! You know my name then. I realized after leaving the note on your door that it was a bit pretentious of me to sign it with simply my initials seeing as you might not actually know who I am. I mean not everyone owns a TV, and some people, though obviously uneducated, don't like to take in the theater or appreciate Broadway. Afterwards I realized that maybe I should have gone with the third draft of that note, but the fourth one _was _the shortest and I didn't want to try taping a three page note to your door and-"

"Where do you live?" the blonde asks, cutting off the rant. Rachel pouts at her a little having been cut off in the middle of her paragraph. "I mean, you said you lived just down the hall, but you didn't say where down the hall," Quinn elaborates.

This new information seems to fluster the singer. "Oh my goodness. How careless of me! And here I thought I scared you away, or you thought I was holding your clothes hostage. My apologies!"

_She's so proper, _Quinn notices. She thinks about how much her mom would beam at this woman's manners. She always said her little Quinnie needed to find more friends that were more polite. Judy Fabray couldn't stand the abrasive bluntness of her friends back in high school, especially – _No, Quinn!_ – she shakes her head back and forth to knock away thoughts of the girl that had been plaguing her all day.

"I'm sorry. Is my talking annoying you that much?" Quinn realizes Rachel now has her hands perched upon her hips with a bit of an exasperated look on her face.

"No! No, Rachel. It's just.. my brain hurts. I've had a long day, and now I'm locked out of my apartment, and my cell phone is broken so I have no way to call the super," the blonde explains.

"Oh. I see. Well, if it's not too uncomfortable for you, you are more than welcome to come over to my place. You can call the super on my phone and take a shower while you wait. I'm sure I have some sweats and a shirt you can change into while you wait. Actually, if you don't already have plans, I have wine and my TV and DVD player are now set up and ready to be exploited for many, many Streisand marathons, unless you don't like Barbara. Although, I can't see why anyone wouldn't like someone so talented and –" As much as Quinn is enamored with this woman's antics, the hallway is getting quite chilly.

"Rachel!" she cuts the brunette off once again. "I'll watch whatever you want as long as I can get out of these sweaty clothes."

The brunette smiles, "Great! Ready?"_I don't know. Am I?_ she asks herself as she follows Rachel Berry down the hallway to her apartment. "Oh, and I'll grab you a pen and paper when we get inside," the actress throws back over her shoulder. Quinn lifts an eyebrow to this. "Well, I'm sure you'll want to write down Brittany's name and number so it doesn't wash off in the shower," Rachel smirks looking down to the blonde's graffiti'd leg as she drags her into her place.

**_A/N: Who loves Arthur?_**


	3. Chapter 3

**_A/N: Yea, so it's been a while, eh? I know. I know. I suck. I'm not going to give you my life story as to why, but basically I've been editing a book and creating a website at work. Then I just got stuck on how long this chapter was and working through it. I've got big parts of the story already figured out, but I can't get you to them if I don't add paths along the way. Anyways, I decided to cut this long chapter in half so that way you have something to read and you will believe that I haven't given up on this story. Plus, I really hate Author's Notes as chapters, so I had to give you something._**

**_This chapter is short, but I hope you somewhat enjoy it. Maybe.. If anything I hope it holds you over until I finish this next part and chisel away at this writer's block. _**

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**Chapter 3**

_Oh my God. I'm in Rachel Berry's shower. Oh my God. I'm using Rachel Berry's shampoo. Oh my God! I just got shampoo in my eye!_

Quinn lets out a little squeal as she rushes to rinse the soap from her eye. The stinging brings her back to reality, which is actually very surreal at the moment. If any other random neighbor had invited her into their home to shower and wait for the super, she probably would've moved floors. But this was Rachel Berry. _I mean, it's not like she's a serial killer or anything right? They'd probably report that in the tabloids if she was.. Right? _The blonde finishes rinsing conditioner out of her hair and shut off the shower before she could have any more creepy thoughts enter her head. Grabbing a towel, she begins to dry off while being consumed by the scents of the tiny starlet. The shampoo and the boy wash alone had sent a sort of buzzing energy through her she hadn't felt in years, but now she was being drowned by the diva's own unique smell as she slipped on the black V-neck and a pair of red sweat pants the brunette had lent her and she couldn't help a shiver that ran through her. Quinn turned to the mirror to take in her appearance before she exited the en suite. Her long, honey blonde hair was still damp, she had the bottom of her sweats rolled up to show her toned runner's calves, and the black cotton shirt rode up on her just a bit showing just a sliver of the abs she worked so hard to keep even after quitting the Cheerios. Quinn chuckled at the realization that the red and black combo she had going on made it look like she might as well have just finished showering after another on of Sue Sylvester's hellish practices.

_Okay_, Quinn took a deep breath, _you can do this. No fan girling, Quinn. She's just your new neighbor with a gorgeous smile and legs to die for – wait – no, she's just your new neighbor that is graciously invited you over for wine and a movie not to have you creep on her. Remember your manners. If you learned anything from Russell and Judy, it was how to behave in the presence of other without embarrassing yourself.. hopefully. _She nods to herself in the mirror and turns to take on this oddly amazing situation.

As Quinn walked through the small apartment that mirrored her own, she noticed that Rachel seems to have gotten most of her unpacking done, but the place still appeared a bit sparse. There were a couple of items hanging on the wall, such as a picture of the girl and two men. Quinn guessed they were the diva's fathers that the girl boasted about when hosting the New York GLAAD last year. What? She had already admitted her fan girl crush on the woman. That's not stalkerish. That's just common knowledge. The blonde also noticed an Emmy and a Tony planted above her otherwise bare mantel. As she made it to the kitchen, Quinn found the girl she was looking for, talking to someone on a pink (and possibly bedazzled) iPhone.

"Yes, she lives in my building," the blonde heard the starlet in a hushed tone. "No, I don't believe I know her last name. No, I am NOT going to ask her for her social security number!" Quinn could hear someone yelling on the other said of the call. "Would you calm down, Lo? She seems like a nice and sane girl, and she didn't appear to be hiding any weapons on her body. Stop that. You know how lonely these jobs can be. You and Tina are the ones who said I should keep a low profile while I'm in _my own city._ Which is why I'm not even staying in my _own_ apartment, and why I won't be visiting any of myS.A. cast while I'm here. You wanted low key? Fine!" The volume of Rachel's voice was growing louder at this point, "But I'm Rachel Barbara Berry and you know most of the film's cast and crew are already going to make the assumption that I'm some obnoxious diva they don't want to associate with," Rachel took a deep breath as the person on the other line grumbled out what sounded like an apologetic response. "I know, Lo. But you know how hard it can be for me to make friends, especially with how the tabloids have chosen to portray my overeager tenacity." Another pause as a response is pleaded through the other end. "No, you've already banned me from seeing the only friends I have in this city. You never said anything about making new ones. You don't have to protect me all the time, you know. I did make it through four years of high school without your protection. Plus, you'll be visiting in a couple of weeks so you can judge for yourself whether or not my neighbor is trustworthy enough."

By now, Quinn felt as if she had encroached upon this personal conversation a little bit too long. "Ahem," she clears her throat to bring attention to her presence. The actress jumps at the sudden noise turning to make eye contact with the blond. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to end this conversation, Lo, seeing as my guest has just walked in. No I will not put her on the phone. Miss you. Love you. Bye." Rachel hangs up the phone not having removed her chocolate gaze from Quinn's own hazel stare. After what seemed like a few solid minutes, the brunette hadn't moved, only taking her bottom lip between her teeth to thoughtfully chew on.

Quinn figured the brunette was rethinking her invite and trying to figure out the most polite way to kick her out. Finally, Rachel shakes her head and laughs a little. "Forgive me, Quinn. I'm just a little nervous is all." The blonde raises an eyebrow as a question to the other girl. "You would be surprised to find I don't get to meet a lot of new people, or at least, I don't get to speak to them for more than a few minutes before I'm dragged off by my publicist or my overly protective friend that you just heard on the phone. And those I do meet for longer tend to take my need for perfection in every performance as me being an outlandish diva. It doesn't help that Lo seems to think she's not only a friend, but a body guard that threatens bodily harm to anyone who speaks poorly of me. Although, I appreciate her support, it makes it a little hard to meet new people as you probably heard," Rachel pauses at this point, "How much of that did you hear by the way?"

Quinn lets the silence sit for a minute wondering how honest she should be. She decides to be upfront with the girl that was gracious enough to consider a friendship with her.

"212-456-8686."

The tiny singer frowns a little, crinkling her nose at the odd response, and the blonde can't help the smile that stretches across her face in effect to how adorable the shorter girl looks right now.

"My social security number," she smirks.

This is enough for the starlet to unscrunch her nose allowing her signature Rachel Berry Broadway star smile to spread across her face.

"Ah, yes. Well Lo can be a bit fierce when it comes to the company I keep." Quinn's head tilts up a bit while raising an eyebrow at this information. "Oh, don't get me wrong. She's fiercely overprotective, but all in good cause. It can be hard to figure out who's a real friend when you're an 'up and coming' start such as myself."

The scoff Quinn releases in response causes Rachel's smile to automatically drop. "I didn't mean to come off as egotistical or pretentious, Quinn. I was simply trying to share something with you, but I guess.. I mean.." Rachel turns away from the girl and busies herself trying to uncork the bottle of red behind her.

The blonde can't stand the thought that she's the reason that smile went away. "No, no, no, Rachel," Quinn stutters out, taking a step towards the upset singer that seems to be struggling with the cork at this point. "I didn't mean it like that. It's just that I think 'up and coming' feels like little bit of an understatement in my opinion." Rachel has stilled her movements at this point and Quinn takes the pause to move forward and take the bottle from the smaller girl. "C'mon Rach, you've already won an Emmy and a Tony, and all the media buzz on you says this movie you're working on could be your ticket to an Oscar. Not to mention a Grammy will be in the bag for you as soon as you decide to take the time to record an album. Like, I was never able to see you on stage, but your Spring Awakeing album is usually on repeat during my workouts. Not to mention when you sang on your _Smash _guest spot. I thought Megan Hilty was amazing, but you.. you blew me away."

Quinn has finally gotten the cork out of the bottle and poured a glass for herself and her neighbor that seems to be oddly quiet at this point. Quinn looks up to see the diva gaping at her with a hint of a smirk. _Oh my God, Quinn! If she was upset before, now you straight up creeped her out. _Quinn looks away from the singer and begins to unscrew the cork from the opener trying to concentrate on anything other than the silent girl in front of her. The blonde's head shoots up in confusion as the silence is broken by a fit of giggles. "I feel like this is the part where I wait for you to hand me a magazine or headshot to autograph."

_Oh God_, Quinn turns away again feeling the tips of her ears burning, and she swears her face must be as read as the sweat pants she's wearing.

"Or I could always sign some body part of yours like your friend Brittany. Although, I don't know if I need to provide my phone number since you know where I live now."

Nope, Quinn's face was definitely a darker shade than her sweat pants now.

Rachel giggles again shaking her head while reaching past the stunned blonde to grab the bottle of wine and two glasses.

"I'm only kidding, Quinn," she assures the blonde as she looks back over her shoulder on her way towards the living room. "Now, let's go watch a movie and then we can get to know each other a little better. Well, I can get to know you since you already seem to know plenty enough about me. Maybe we can even come up with a nickname for you since you've already taken to calling me Rach."

Dr. Mack was right.. running had turned out to be a great idea.

**Next chapter will be the rest of the night. I've gotten a chunk of it written, so hopefully it will not take nearly as long as this last one did. **


	4. Chapter 4

**_A/N: I own nothing. Um. This one was a bit hard to write. Moving along though. I hope you enjoy it and give me your feedback as to how you would like to see it go if you want. I pretty much have the big parts already scribbled out, but ya know, anything can happen. I don't know how long the next chapter will go, but I do love some of the feedback y'all have been giving. More Britt to come up next chapter I do believe. You'll also possibly get more Mike and introduced to Puck possibly. _**

**_On another note.. a Beta.. hmm.. this seems like an interesting idea. How does one go about finding a Beta? I like to edit myself mostly, but I guess there are still errors some time. And maybe I could use some help elsewhere seeing as this is my first fanfiction.._**

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**Chapter 4**

They had decided on _Breakfast at Tiffany's_. Rachel had pointed to a shelf on her book case filled with DVDs deemed "The Best Flicks of NY" and told her blonde neighbor to choose whatever she wished. Quinn had then insisted that as it was Rachel's apartment she should be the one to choose the movie. The diva perched her hands on her hips, stomped her foot, and glared at Quinn.

_So that's what a Berry Diva Fit looks like_, Quinn thought before realizing she had actually spoken the words out loud. Before she could recover, the starlet smirked at her, "Sweetheart that was maybe an iota of my tabloid infamous diva fits. I didn't even attempt my trademarked storm out on you. You're going to have to work a little harder than that to witness the phenomena of Rachel Barbara Berry that I'm sure you've read bout so many times. Luckily, we have time," she jests, throwing in a wink.

So they ended up watching _Breakfast at Tiffany's_. At least, that's what Quinn thinks they were watching. She had spent most of the movie stiff as a board, staring forward at the screen trying to calm down the obnoxious organ beating so loudly in her chest she was sure Rachel could hear it rattling off her rib cage. She was glad Rachel had opted to give her sweat pants now since the excited starlet had grabbed her and dragged them over to the very cozy loveseat in front of the TV, which meant the tiny diva was practically sitting on her lap. Quinn could barely handle hugs most of the time, and now she was squished next to the tiny brunette causing their legs to be pressed snuggly against each other. She could feel the heat emanating from Rachel's legs covered only by tiny shorts the girl had chosen to wear. The blonde's eyes bore into the screen trying to concentrate on the film and not the tan, toned limbs nestled beside her. She really did try, but every now and then she could feel the other girl's toes wiggle from against the blondes thigh after Rachel decided she was more comfortable with her legs tucked underneath herself. Quinn's body was on high alert, assessing every movement within the vicinity of the tiny, but somehow comfortable couch. Quinn had never been a touchy feel person. Not many people ever attempted to come within the ex-cheerleader's personal bubble due to the HBIC glare she wore specifically to keep others at an arm's length. She was a Fabray, and Fabrays weren't into physical affection. Frannie and her had never really hugged. Her parents sometimes gave them a pat on the head or back when they had accomplished something. Mike was her best friend in the city and he knew never to crowd the blonde unless she _really _looked like she needed a hug. Even then, he usually asked permission first. Truth is, Quinn had only ever held that type of comfort with two people in her life. One of those now lived in Boston while the other.. well the other couldn't even look at her let alone touch her.. _No. Stop. Don't go there again. Think about something else. Okay. The movie. What're we watching? Oh God, are those Rachel's toes wiggling against me AGAIN?_

Quinn was happily pulled away from her thoughts when she heard a soft sniffling beside her. Wait. She didn't remember Breakfast At Tiffany's being a particularly sad film. Still, when she turned her head towards Rachel, she found the shorter girl crying at the screen.

"Cat! Cat! Oh, Cat…" she heard come from the television.

The blonde girl's earlier dwellings vanished as she smiled at the scene before her. "Who knew Rachel Berry was such a romantic.."

The brunette turned her head sharply towards the voice pulling her away from the movie having forgotten about her guest pressed next to her. "You should know as my number one fan, Quinn, that I am in fact a very strong supporter of animal rights and work closely with PETA. Although, I _am_ a bit of a romantic, I am actually more upset at the behavior of Audrey Hepburn's character so easily throwing a poor defenseless kitty out into the scary, rainy streets of New York. One should not adopt a pet unless they're going to devote all their time, love, and care towards the animal."

By this point the blonde's jaw had dropped, openly staring at the diva. "You're crying," she slowly assessed, "about the cat."

Rachel sniffs once more, slowly nodding her head up and down.

"Oh my God, you are beyond adorkable," Quinn says before she busts out laughing.

Rachel crosses her arms over her chest. "That is it," she pouts, "You are no longer the President of my Fan Club, and I would ask you to leave my premises if you are going to continue to mock my concern and passion for animals, fictional or not."

Quinn stops her laughing long enough for Rachel to finish the short rant. Her face turns serious as she asks, "Is this the part where you get up and storm out?" The taller girl can't help it. Her face cracks right after, and she finds herself laughing again.

Rachel stomps her foot at the question and pops up from the couch. Quinn's left side suddenly feels cold at the absence. "Oh! You are just like, Lo! So I have a weak spot for animals. I am a very passionate person, Quinn, sometimes maybe a little too passionate, but I will chalk this time up to the fact that I've consume two glasses of Cabernet after having a very small dinner. Now, I am going to "break the seal" as Lo would say, and when I return we are going to play 20 questions seeing as you know much more about me than I do about you." With that, the diva turned and walked towards the en suite leaving her neighbor to smile to herself. It had been a while since she had another female friend, and today she seems to have made two. Turning towards the wine that Rachel had been talking about earlier, she realized she only had to refill Rachel's seeing as she hadn't touched her own.

They had been through most of the basic questions by now.

"Where are you from?"  
"A Podunk town in the Midwest."

"Siblings?"  
"Just one. An older sister."  
"Oh, what's her name?"  
"Frannie."

"Age of first kiss?"  
"Hmm.. I think about six."

"Favorite movie?"  
"_500 Days of Summer_."  
"Really? But it's kind of super depressing."  
"That's not a question, Rachel."

"Okay. Does the curtain match the drapes?"  
"Rachel!"  
"What? The more I drink, the more I seem to channel Lo."  
The blonde rolls her eyes, "She seems so lovely."

"Fine. Favorite past time?"  
"Running."

This wasn't a complete lie seeing as she had just started up again, and after the day she's had, Quinn could definitely see herself going for a run more often in the future. The questions continued on like this. The blonde explained that she was in New York studying for her Masters in Creative Writing from NYU while teaching a lower level English class at the university so she didn't have to get a job as a barista. She told Rachel about her notebooks filled with stories and sketches. She even shared about the book she's working for the past year. Quinn became lost in herself as she went on about the story of a girl getting lost in her own imagination in order to escape reality. "I want it to be a story you can get lost in with sketches littered throughout to help guide your imagination along the way." Rachel was extremely engrossed by this, asking a question here or there to keep Quinn talking about something she was obviously amorous about. The game was forgotten, and the blonde ended up sharing more than she usually would with anyone.

"I want to write things that people never forget," Quinn mused. "Like, a good story – everyone knows what it's about – give you the basic plot maybe. And a great story – they remember certain characters , or possibly how much they loved a certain chapter. Our own stories, though, we can remember exactly how we felt when at the time of a memory, whether it was a turning point in our lives or a time you were just felt content, or we can recite the exact words said to us at certain moments even if they were years ago. We remember these things because even if they seem insignificant to others, it's _our_ story. I want people to remember my story as if it were a part of their own. I want to see lines from it sketched into someone's notebook for inspiration or hear someone reciting the words to a friend in some hole in the wall bar over drinks. I want to write something someone thinks is significant enough to permanently ink onto their body. Yea, if my story can make into drunken ramblings or onto skin, I'll know that I've created a story that others can make their own."

"Wow," Rachel exhaled slowly, staring at the passionate woman before her, "And what words have become a part of your own story?"

Quinn thought it over for a minute before reciting, "Daydreams were dangerous because they made her wish for things she could never have."

"What's that from?"

"I don't know," she answered honestly, sighing, "but I'll never forget them."

"Well, I approve."

"Of what? The words?"

"Well, no. They are particularly sad, much like your favorite film choice of _500 Days of Summer_. I meant I approve of your passion. And because of this, you are now reinstated as President of the Rachel Berry Fan Club."

Quinn couldn't help but chuckle at the girl's remark. She was happy for the conversation to turn elsewhere after realizing just how much she had divulged about herself.

"Actually, the way you speak about your writing and your artwork reminds me of my friend, Lo. Don't ever tell you I said that though. She's got this wall built up around her, and people usually see it as anger or attitude, but truthfully she's just a very passionate person.."

Rachel drifts off on the last word as her eyes move to the far wall like she's remembering something. Quinn doesn't quite know what happens, but the next minute the tiny diva is crying.

"Oh my God, um.. are you okay, Rachel?" she asks as she takes the wine glass from the brunette and sets it down while pulling the shorter girl into a hug. Quinn is almost always awkward in these types of situations, but all she can think about right now is that this beautiful girl is upset and she needs to fix it. "You must really miss your friend, huh?" she mumbles into dark, wavy locks.

Quinn rubs up and down Rachel's back while the girl drenches her shirt with what she hopes are tears and not snot. "No, it's not that," the brunette gets out between sobs, "I'm sorry. I was just thinking about that cat again."

The blonde stops her movements and pushes the other girl back to arm's length. "You're crying. About the cat. Again." Rachel's face is blotchy now. Her eyes are red and puffy with tear tracks staining her cheeks. She slowly nods her head up and down just like earlier. Quinn looks to the table now noticing the empty wine bottle. "Hmm.. looks like someone might have had a little too much to drink. How about we get you to bed, Rach?" The diva nods her head again at this idea. "Okay. How about you go and get yourself a tissue or towel to clean up your face, and I'll clear off the wine glasses and such?"

Rachel sniffs a couple of more times before getting off the couch to head to the kitchen while Quinn follows behind with the bottle and glasses. She places them on the counter and turns back around to turn off the TV, but not before catching her toe on the edge of the couch. "AH, OUCH!" Quinn hollers, bending over to grab at the abuse digit. "Son of a –" before she can even finish Rachel has launched herself onto her back with a happy yelp. Quinn doesn't know how she keeps the two of them balanced, but somehow she manages to grab Rachel's legs and stand them up. "Dear God, Rachel! You could've killed us both."

"You're a runner. Aren't you supposed to have strong legs?" the brunette giggles. The blonde shakes her head at the singer's drunken antics and starts walking the girl towards the bedroom. "I'm a runner not a pony," she points out. She's trying not to concentrate on the fact that Rachel's breasts are now pressed up against her back and the warm breaths she can feel against her neck. They make their way inside the room where the blonde ungracefully drops her passenger onto the bed. She's trying to convince herself that her tiny passenger was _not_ sniffing her hair before she dropped her. The brunette grunts as she bounces onto the mattress and mumbles a "Rude" for good measure. Quinn watches her struggle to crawl under her covers and get comfortable. Finally, the other girl seems content with her position and the blonde goes to turn off the lights. "Thanks for coming over, Quinn," Rachel peaks her head out from under the covers. She yawns but continues, "I had a really great time. One of these days we're going to go do breakfast at Tiffany's ourselves, but we won't invite that bitch, Holly, along." Quinn lets out a chuckle. Rachel grumbles a few more things that sound like 'evil cat hater' as the blonde turns off the light closing the bedroom door, whispering a 'goodnight' on her way out.

She makes her way to the kitchen, throwing away the empty wine bottle and grabbing hers and Rachel's glasses to put in the sink. The blonde notices now that her glass is still full, never having taken a drink of it all night. She stares at the full glass for a second before dumping it down the sink. She'll wonder about it later when she's not in the afterglow of what turned out to be a wonderful day. For now, she makes her way down the hall after allowing Rachel's door to lock itself behind her. She makes it to her door moving to grab her keys when she realizes, _Fuck, we never called the super._

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**So.. um.. what'd ya think? **_  
_


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